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Is he here to make sure the deed is done? Does he want to be the one who pulls the trigger? I give him an icy glare, hoping it conveys everything I want to say to him. I’ve never been into fantasy, but this is the only time in my life I wish I had superpowers—like laser eyesight, or something. So I could kill him with a look.
The Chancellor says something to him, but Alexander’s eyes are glued to me.
He looks different.
Paler, for one. There’s a wild air about him. His golden hair is disheveled and stringy. Even his shirt hangs from his body haphazardly because he didn’t button it properly. He looks like he’s been walking against the wind.
The biggest change is in his eyes, though. They aren’t the color of a tropical ocean anymore. Instead, they look like an abyss—dark and deep enough to swallow me whole. His gaze is all-consuming, and so much passes between us in the seconds we stare at each other.
All the curses I’ve left unsaid.
All the lies he’s told.
Is this his way of wanting me to feel sorry for him? Does he demand my pity, even as his actions have cursed me to death? I furrow my brows, scowling up at him.
No.
I fucking hate you, I want to say.
But it is the Chancellor who speaks.
“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Duke,” he says, slapping Alexander’s shoulder.
Alexander mumbles something in response, tearing his eyes away from me for a brief second to acknowledge the Chancellor. Dr. Martin looks at Alexander, then at me.
He chuckles. “Well, let’s get this meeting started, shall we?”
He waves thetwoof us into his office.
What? He can’t possibly mean…
When I gather myself enough to try to protest, Dr. Martin has already entered his office. The guards move to station themselves outside the door.
It’s just me and the traitor.
He reaches out to touch me, but I back away out of his reach. The door to the Chancellor’s office is still open—he’s seated at his desk now, watching us. Alexander doesn’t react to me, only casts a glance at Dr. Martin.
“I will do the talking. Don’t say a fucking thing.” His voice is low and gravelly, definitely not as silky as I remember it. It’s like he’s been chewing glass.
What the fuck is going on with him?
I scowl. “You can’t tell me what to do.” He steps in closer, invading my space.
He’s definitelydifferent.His eyes skim over my face, lingering on my neck. I don’t even recognize the smell of him—the woodiness of the forest is gone, replaced with…cigarette smoke? Is that new? There are bags beneath his eyes and creases in his forehead.
I’m tempted to ask him if he’s okay.
But the rational part of my brain reminds me that he is not, that he never was. This whole shitty situation is his doing. When I hold that thought, the sight of him doesn’t tug at my heartstrings.
If anything, I’m happy to see him suffering.
“I just did, Alize,” Alexander says. “Be a good girl and shut the fuck up.”
There’s an unwanted flutter in my stomach at his words.
He grabs my arm harshly and starts walking toward the door. I want to wrestle out of his grasp, but his hand on my skin is warm, like a brand. His corded fingers digging into my soft skin remind me of all the places his hands have been, of all the ways those fingers have made me feel.
For a moment, I lean into his touch, letting the sensation soak into my bones.
